Dragons

Sometimes our faith is rattled to the core. I don't mean our religious faith but our belief in the those intangibles that go to make up the people that we are, or the people we thought we knew.

A massive life event can make you re-evaluate everything that you held to be true, everything that you believed in, both in yourself and in other people. Over the last few weeks I have been surrounded by people with copious amounts of honour, trust and integrity, selfless giving and support and I am gradually restoring my battered faith in the positive power of human nature.

Love encompasses all of these intangibles (and more) and as I walk on my new path I can honestly say that I still believe in love - the love I held in the past, the love I have now and the love that is waiting somewhere on the horizon. I have faith.

Oh, and I also believe in dragons - do you?


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Eau de life

I was in a queue yesterday and the woman in front was trying to kill me. She didn't know it, of course, she looked fairly nice, but her liberal use of personal stink juice overwhelmed my senses and brought on a coughing fit that a TB sufferer would have been proud of.

I have a catlike slavery to my nose and could probably follow a nice smell for a couple of miles but a bad one is enough to put me off something for life. I suspect most people are the same and like me find that the over use of any perfume/aftershave hides the essence of the real person underneath. I feel cheated.

In our bottle of personal smell we carry around a gentle concoction of the lives we lead, the food we eat and the regular products that we use. At the base of this is our very own parfum, mixed in our own skin and as individual as a fingerprint. As the eyes take a photograph so the nose seeks out the essence and decides whether the smell is attractive or repulsive (or somewhere in between).
I have found over the years that I must be able to store a thousand smells and each can bring back a memory - my dads starched, soapy collar, my grandmothers floury, cigarette smokey apron and the smell of my children moments after they were born. This sense of memory is so powerful that one dip into my mums powder box can transport me back to her bedroom in the late sixties.

So. Give me your smell, your personal pong, the essence that makes you you. By all means wear something that enhances it, subtly, but leave me with a sense of you and the life that you carry around with you. Nothing is more powerful than the effect of warm, clean skin so please stop hiding it under those nauseating, malodourous man-made scents that nearly kill off the sense of smell in one ghastly sniff.

Poised provocatively with scissors

As my life is now under new management, I am horrified to discover that I am agreeing to the ridiculous suggestions that the Gin Club are making. Last night I was dragged off to see the film extravaganza 'Sex in the City' and I was supposed to enjoy it even though I have never given one second of my time to the series.

"You'll love it after a few drinks." they said

Surprisingly, I did, but possibly not on the level that my fellow covenites might have expected. You see, it was the psycology of the thing that fascinated me most. Despite of the fact that Demanda kept nudging me in the ribs and saying "Do you think I am like Samantha?", I was fascinated to see that the merkans have Gin Clubs too.

"They are just like us, except for all that long hair." Demoana said, tipping her her drink over the very posh leather seat.

I tentatively patted my own hair - fourteen inches of uncontrollable scruff. Are you supposed to have long hair after you are forty?
Sarah Jessica Parker obviously needed hers to cover some of her face, but the trollopy Samantha was wearing hers with sexually liberated, knob hunting freedom. I was confused.

What am I portraying? Sexual predator of less than spring chicken years or just a lazy cow who can't be bothered to find a decent hairdresser?

So here I stand, scissors poised provocatively - do I chop, or not?


Oh, and Happy Litha - health and healing to all

Wifey and the Warchildren

Oh yes, that's right. I had forgotten that I was sort of about books and stuff. So, here's some news...

Judith Blimey O'Reilly has a new book out. Not only that but she has a very sleek promo video to go with it. It tickled my fancy and I thought you might like to see it, but the wotsit won't go in the thingiebob and make YouTube come to me (don't call me technotwit) so here's a straight link -

Wife in the North

Hah, good, eh? Now buy it.

Oh yes, and this one arrived....


I'm about halfway through this wonderful book (and yes, I did read my own, page 112 - cringe) and can honestly say that none have disappointed and quite a few have made me go 'wow'. Peacharse and co have good taste and this is a discerning collection of short, and really short, stories from all over the world.

Under the premise of 'Whatever you've been through, you're not the only one' - this book is helping to raise funds for Warchild.

• 66% of people who die in conflict are children
• 1.5 million children have died in wars in the last decade alone
• 4 million children have been disabled by war
• 10 million children have been traumatised by war

We can help in small ways and your coffee breaks will be brighter - so BUY A BOOK

Go HERE to purchase

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It has come to my attention that some people feel that they can just walk right in to my comments box and do and say exactly what they please. So just like those wonderful signs at the swimming pool I think it is about time that I gave you the rules of engagement with the Inner Minx....

1) No spittin' - spitting is rude, un-hygenic and makes a mess in the archives. A spittoon will be placed at the door for those who need to hoik before entering.

2) No cussin' - poncy cussing will not be tolerated. If you wish to swear then please do it properly - I know all the words and use them regularly.

3) No heavy petting - heavy pets must be left in the lobby but a little light petting is indeed acceptable (except for Muts, and he knows why)

4) No sex - there isn't room, so please refer to the instruction on 1) - spittoon etc.

5) No loitering - if you are hanging about in my site meter then I want to know who you are. It is no good just leaving me a vague ISP address, I want an explanation. Whoever it is who comes in at 10.30am every morning - does your boss know that you are reading blogs at work? And the one from the Pentagon (4-5 pm) - get back to work, your country needs you!

6) No google searches - not unless you are really inventive and can think of something other than 'sexy minx' (true, but not very original).

7) No innuendo or lewdness - please get to the point and refrain from double entendre's, tell it like it is and we will all be happier. Smutty and lascivious comments are perfectly acceptable.

8) No stalking - I had one once before and they will not be tolerated. Anyone who hangs around for longer than half an hour will be locked in a room with Pundy (he saved me once before - hero).

9) No chatting amongst yourselves - comments should be directed at the blog host. Anyone would think that some of you are actually friends (which can't happen on the interweb obviously).
10) No parties - this blog has been subject to a number of parties, mostly held in my absence. Seeing as I was one of the founder members of "Oh look, he's on holiday, let's party in the comments box" I would like to encourage partying when the blog host is in residence.

11) No diving in the shallow end - is this applicable? I'm not sure.

12) No food or drink - except gin and chocolate, oh and bananas, which I seem to be eating a lot of lately.

13) No ball games - for obvious reasons (no balls).

Thank you for your attention. A well tended blog is a happy blog so maybe it is best to ignore most of the above and carry on as we were.

On motherhood

She found that being a mother was not as natural as it sounded. Kids don’t come with an instruction book so she made it up as she went along. The rules were there to be manipulated and she tweaked them constantly, defining the moment and altering their small worlds to suit present conditions.
And they didn’t know any different, so she taught them the difference. She taught them about sameness as well, and about love, always about love, and how to piss your pants from laughing too much.

Can you make a good child out of a bad? She didn’t know and she didn’t want to have to try. She only knew, as only a mother can, that these two that she had grown, were real, live, thinking people. Two small life sponges that could either be filled with light or filled with stuff that could leave a nasty taste in later years.

Honesty and the art of idle chatter were the keys to unlock this mysterious cupboard. She read them stories and talked to them about things that she had no right to talk about, telling them about her own mistakes and listening to their valuable opinions.

When ‘finding yourself’ meant black nail varnish, peroxide and lager, she went shopping, supplied gloves and held the bucket. It was no good just giving advice when it wasn’t needed, they obviously needed to poke their fingers in the fire and it was her role to hand out the bandages until the lesson was learned. She allowed them to grow with a safety net that was full of holes – they would learn to land on the good bits.

And then, suddenly, they were there, these gems. Brilliant, multi-faceted nearly men, full of confident mistakes, full of bullshit and full of life. Her job was not done but there was hope that these gems will be free gems. Free to make honest choices, free to live without regret and free to shine and shine and shine. And they will.

First born feckers, fishballs and friends

We maybe should have been daunted - two pagans and an undecided, barging in on a ceremony that goes back through the mists of time. Knowing Debi and her family, as I do, it was silly to think that we wouldn't be welcomed with open arms into their wonderful community.
With the feckers looking like two rejects from the Blues brothers....

..we set about girding our loins for the three hour service (yes, that's what I said) that would take FB into manhood.
FB was a testament to the strength of character that runs through his family. Coming down with measles a few days before his big day led to a very sick child walking into the synagogue but a real man walking out. There were tears all round.
The service was a bit like watching a play performed in a foreign language but there were people on hand to explain what was going on and they do at least feed you afterwards (mmm, fishballs, yummy).
There was also dancing, and drinking, and eating, lots of eating and more dancing- long into the night.....


FB's Bar Mitzvah was significant on so many levels - proving that there is nothing stronger than the love of family and friends.

These two friends are for life, proving once again the power of the internet and the possibility of finding a soul sister halfway across the country.

Book news

Before I post some pics of our fabulous weekend I just need to promote something that I am proud to be a part of. I came home last night to find that my story has been included in this.....


...a fabulous new book and the proceeds are going to WARCHILD a very worthwhile charity.
The book is full of intimate stories from bloggers around the world. I am delighted and it is a great boost to my writing which is somewhat at a standstill at the moment.

Thanks to Peacharse and co for their hard work in putting it all together.

Go and take a look - details, who is in it, and how to purchase are here....

YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE



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New experiences

I always look forward to a new experience and tomorrow morning the feckers and I are off to London to sample something very, very new.
In case any of you haven't wandered over to Debi's blog lately then you will be unaware that it is her eldest son's Bar Mitzvah on Saturday (how could you not have noticed?).

New experiences often call for a little preparation so I have read up all about it so that we don't let ourselves down. I have been practicing balancing on chairs and refining the art of shoe flinging...
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I have bought a scarf so I don't offend anyone with my wanton hairy ways (do you think it is subtle enough?).....
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..and we have be learning how to do this bottle dancy thing although small fecker's efforts required an empty can of lager and some super glue.

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There is also going to be a band and we have been practicing so that we can jam with them...
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So here we come, Debi, we are really excited and we haven't eaten for a week!

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In time

Love stretched the years

a perished elastic band.

But trickling through the hourglass

was a finite stream of sand

A courtesan out of favour,

an empty shuttered room,

the untended garden,

where roses fail to bloom.

No one spoke the words that

no one wants to hear.

A tangled muted history,

cloaked in fluid fear

Forgotten was the joy,

like laughter in the rain,

hidden under blankets

as the years came round again

The layers peeled away

left an open sore

A moribund truth revealed

That love once lay at the core

Journeys are funny things

Eyes are often blind

to the tangled superhighway

Of the heart and the mind

As new ground is stepped upon,

lessons must be learned.

Love-blind eyes cover up,

the fingers that are burned.

Now a sadness sweeps the chess board,

where blame plays no part,

leaving just an echo,

of two broken hearts.

Time will do the telling

of what is wrong and

what is right

but hold fast that true love

was worth a monumental fight.

Focus on the rocky road

and carry the light,

to keep your path to happiness,

always within sight.